


299

by tukimecca



Category: SHINee
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-09-08 16:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8851450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tukimecca/pseuds/tukimecca
Summary: 2 People. 9 Years. 9 Moment.





	1. 14

**Author's Note:**

> Recollection of 9 favorite Jongkey moments in 9 years.
> 
> I love to write something based on/inspired by real event. While I love how fandom portrayed jongkey, I cannot deny that even without us, jongkey's interaction is already lovely in itself.

He has done this dance so many times before. Thousands of rehearsals. Millions of practice. Every single particle that made up his body remembers the movements, remembers the order of execution. Remembers which joint to bend and which finger to snap. Remembers which leg should go first and which hand after. The choreography is imprinted to his body like a second skin, sturdy armor of alluring delight.

His pulse will follow after and eventually become the music itself. Controlling his movement from within, but he submits himself to them because he knows they will take care of him. They will lead him, guide him like glinting northern star in ink-black night, they tell him how to move and carry himself so he can be his most beautiful.

Dancing is enchantingly cathartic, when he surrenders himself to the beat and let his muscle memory take over. A routine that is sure to bewitch every seeing eyes as he entrusts his body willingly to uninterrupted rhythm of carefully woven melody. It’s cleansing. Relaxing, and despite how draining it looks like and actually is, it’s invigorating.

He loves the music. He loves dancing. He loves the dance, and for the dance is the delighted beat of his heart.

It should not be for the man in front of him whose grin sends his heart soaring to the seventh of heaven, whose eyes glimmer like it got andromeda entrapped inside. He wonders if Andromeda is just like him; enchanted by those alluring pair of honey-cinnamon eyes. He wonders if Andromeda is just like him; helpless like doll without string whenever he does as much as sending his heart-searing gaze to him.

He has done this dance so many times before, and even if he can already execute the whole routine with eyes closed, he is still not accustomed to this - this part of the routine that requires him to be face to face with the man who could just be the love of his life. His be and end all.

They’re in such close proximity, not close enough to make their chest touch each other, but close enough he can feel his breath fanning his skin now and then; close enough than when they bow their head down, their hair would meet - would  _ kiss _ as if in place of their other unavailable part.

It’s been two years and a little bit more since this dance was invented, and he has lost count of how many times he sent this particular look - look that spoke of happiness and utter joy. Delight and contentment. He just knows every time, his heart executed a perfect cart-wheel before either lurching off to the sky of drops to the bottom of his stomach, broken, yet satisfied. Because he knows too, that even if his feeling was mutual - even if his feeling  _ could _ be mutual, there is no way they can admit it, not with their current circumstance.

He has seen pictures, taken by fans to immortalize the look he dons right now - eyes tender, smile sincere. Another time it will be eyes adoring, eyes admiring, and his heart will constrict so painfully, because he wants to answer that look. Because he wants the world to see how he answers that look. So they will know, and he will let them know if he could. That this man is  _ his _ , has always been and will always be.

But he cannot for he is a coward. For he cannot bear to take the consequence. And brave as he is, he is nothing but inexorable kindness when it comes to him. “I can wait,” he said, “I  _ will _ wait,” he smiled. He had kissed him, and the very same lips is now grinning so wide that it’s contagious.

So he smiles himself, laughter bubbling up in his chest. He bites his lips to stop it from erupting, so he splays his hand over his chest in unspoken plea of ‘ _ stop _ ’.

It works, his grin is not as wide as before though only a fraction. His head lowers, bangs casting shadow over his eyes but it does nothing to cease the brightness of those pair of compressed galaxy.

And under his fingers are beats, stronger than the music, faster than the lightning that zaps his body whenever their skin meet. His heartbeat, a pacifying cadence of melody. Cheerful like a child. Exuberant bounce of life. He remembers sleeping to it so many times, sleepless night with too many tears to shed, and monsters haunting his uneasy heart. His heartbeat is his lullaby. His arms holding him is gibralter-rock like fortress of security. His voice is his anchor to reality, that even if not everything is going right, right now when they’re skin to skin, heart to heart, things are alright.

He presses his palm a little bit harder, putting a little bit more pressure, making certain of the life aria that he has come to love so much. He prays to night starry and night starless that this cadence beneath his fingers will never cease to stop. Begs to God he didn’t know he believe in that this concordia of anima will never end. For he doesn’t know whether he can survive if they do.

For he loves this man so much, as much as he knows they can never really be together, at least not open under the unforgiving warmth of sunny sky.

Kibum lets his fingers linger a little bit longer. A beat longer, before another beat take over his body, before another beat take control of his cells and force him to part from Jonghyun.

And before he eventually let his hand fall, he pretends he can hear those heartbeats speaking to him.

Of love that can only be spoken under the promised sanctuary the night offers.


	2. 10

There was heartbreak, and the wound in his heart is still fresh, open. Gaping. Red-ugly welt. Gasping, like he is gasping on air, and  _ please, please _ . But there is skin, not-white, endless expanse of tan gold, and warmth; heat intoxicating. Heart-searing temperature. Flame inviting, and he is the moth. Drawn. Attracted. Helpless to law of physics. And in his head he curses fate, curses God, curses mother nature that makes gravity unforgivably seducing.

His eyes are still wet from tears, breath still hitching. Throat is raw, but the warmth encasing his heart is different from the captivating wave Jonghyun’s skin radiates. Like a magnet. The cheers are drowning him, loud echo on against his eardrum, and he swallows another fresh wave of tears because his bandmates are already standing in line, shoulders to shoulders, and,  _ oh _ , he has to stand beside Jonghyun. Jonghyun who has his other hand tangled and another one open, ready - waiting for him.

And Kibum has to answer, hasn’t he? Despite the way his heart had ripped and broke, died slowly like withering flower. Wilting like dried leaves in autumn.

Kibum steps forward and when his shoulder meets Jonghyun, he is zapped with lighting. Incalescent current runs in place of his blood in his veins, electrocuting. Awakening. If he gasps, they would think he does it to stifle his cry. And he wonders if Jonghyun knows - would he know  _ still _ after what happened?

Kibum thinks;  _ here goes _ , and his hand is in slow cadence to Jonghyun’s. Fingers in hesitant arabesque. They are slow learner - beginner, dancing in shy, bashful steps. Spoke about fear of failure - yet sure, ascertain of what they want; where they want to go. They’re in a mission. Determined.

He imagines if Jonghyun is  _ still _ Jonghyun, he would whisper, mentally of course, hushed and secretive because, maybe, Jonghyun is as shy as he is;  _ find me, seek me. I’m here. Meet me. I’m waiting _ .

And Kibum imagines every  _ tap, tap _ of his fingers leave burn; leave spots that tingle. Electrifying, thunderclap-loud. Marking like discovering new constellation. He reaches Jonghyun’s pulse point and he wonders with breath hitched and head mystified by the sheer wonder of our skin kissing, heartbeat syncing; if these little stars will shine, bright as Jonghyun’s eyes when night comes and he draws him alone in his room. If they do shine, will they will be beautiful. If they don’t, they will still be beautiful. Because it’s him - a ghost of you; of Jonghyun - and his vestige is just as beautiful. Jonghyun is always beautiful.

He stops wondering because past the pulse point is his palm, and then there’re his fingers, eventually meeting his. A melodious wake up call. Suddenly, breathing becomes easier. Suddenly, his throat is opening up. Suddenly heart broken is mended. Suddenly,  _ suddenly- _

Kibum feels complete with his hand clasped with Jonghyun’s. Fast. Tight.  _ I will never let you go- you did- does it matter? _

He closes his eyes, takes a shuddering breath and marvels at the wonder of oxygen - how it soothes you in an instance, how it enlivens your cell - He remembers wondering if he could be someone’s oxygen one day. He also remembers he wants the ‘someone’ to be this person by his side, clutching his hand so tight yet so gentle. A cradle of safe haven and  _ forgive me, forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m with you. I- _

A part of his heart that he had to sever and bid goodbye because they ate him whole and alive. A part of his heart that was badly stabbed and lacerated, that was swollen and turned infectious; that threaten to kill him if he didn’t rip them apart. His heart that has Jonghyun’s name carved, ingrained so deep to every part of its wall. Kibum remembers, but he doesn’t remember what did he do with that particular part of heart.

But now, it seems like he had stored it, somewhere in the small, secluded corner of him that he refuses to open but still acknowledge. Because he can feel  _ that heart _ stirs awake, blinking eyes that had become raw from endless tears. It stutters. Trembles. It tries to  _ answer _ , to believe once again in the promise Jonghyun’s unspoken skin offers.

Kibum was hurt, and there is no guarantee he wouldn’t hurt again. And he is human so he naturally shy away from anything that threaten his safety. Rejecting solace - a once promised solace - that Jonghyun lies on his trembling, open palm is instinctive reaction. But if his heart - his dying, half-alive heart - is still willing to struggle for it, then Kibum is also willing to take a stab. He might not believe in a lot of things but his heart he believes in.

So he meets Jonghyun’s, curling his fingers around those heart-melting digits, and hopes his skin develops ability to speak, to answer for him things his lips cannot say; words his tongue cannot shape.

And when he bows down, shoulder to shoulder, skin to skin. Finger to finger. He feels the hold on his hand tightens, drawing him even more impossibly close as if they cells could meet if he did this.

The cheer is deafening. Their heartbeats are ringing from the joined pulses. But in his ears so clear and startling;

_ Thank you. _


	3. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> super concert 2015

Another year had gone by, another memories, in bits and pieces that slot themselves together; like music notes, like piano keys, meeting strum of guitar and weaves themselves around each other to create the most grand and earth-shattering melody.

Another album in his growing shelf. Collages of smiles, assorted expressions captured, immortalized in a piece of glossy paper. They gleam when the light catches them, shining bright behind his eyelids as he relieve the days long gone. Days that he swore were just by the tip of his fingers when he woke up in the morning.

But brighter and more vivid, striking and startling, beautiful in the way that makes him doubt it was reality at all for something that exquisitely beatific is too good to be happening in this charred wasteland called present, is that day, one single day in which his sweats wrapped itself around him like damp, heavy cloak. Uncomfortable. Restraining.

Dead weight on his shoulders. Wearing him down to the bones, and even the bright pearlescent sky blue ocean that never failed to uplift his abysmal mood was powerless for once.

His hair, previously lively ashy-latte was now darker shade of dirty brown. Clumped together, plastered to his skin like dead-weight, worsening the headache that’s been playing a loud, crass noise in his head. His garments clung onto his skin like wet chains, biting coldly into his already sweat-slicked skin. It felt disgusting as much as it was irritating, slimy constrains that he cannot shake off as they clung like a leech on to him.

They added more to his already burdensome fatigue, and Jonghyun found himself unable to smile. He kept looking down, expression drawn carefully blank. He did try his best to tug at least a corner of his lips up, he had done this a million and hundred times more already, but for some reason, he didn’t find any energy left to forge even the most ingenious of smile.

The crowds’ roar used to be his calling, now they’re nothing more than an agent of his distress. The cheer overwhelmed him, and Jonghyun wanted nothing more than pressing the heels of his palm to his ears, blocking all the staggering noises. But even his arms were lead-heavy, hanging uselessly by his side. The rolled-up sleeves pressing uncomfortably on his elbows, sweat-laden, and gross.

The cheers intensified in volume, that’s when Jonghyun became hyper-aware of presences on each side of him. Taemin radiated energy like he was the sun himself, and Kibum, Kibum with his jacket draped over his shoulder like a regal cloak, was smiling. Jonghyun didn’t even need to raise his eyes to see, he  _ knows _ , simply because he believes he  _ knows _ Kibum better than the whole population of South Korea combined. Because it is Kibum, and knowing Kim Kibum came to him naturally like breathing.

Kibum found strength in this routine; of being tired to the bones, and drained to the core. Of being exhausted after executing steps after steps. Of being left with aching throat after singing his soul out. Kibum loves this, being in the crowd, being adored, being the center of attention, and absent-mindedly Jonghyun thought it was given since Kibum could have been the central of the universe all the same for how bright he shines just by existing alone.

Jonghyun shared the same sentiment but not today. For now he just wanted to retreat, stepped away from the spotlight and played the dead. He was exhausted, not in a good way when he got his muscles humming in pleasant fatigue.

He can leave soon. They just have to give one last bow, claps here and there, and they’re free to go. Motivated, Jonghyun raised his left hand with enormous effort, secretly sighing with relief when Taemin quickly clasped their hands together. The sooner, the better.

He was just about to do the same – offering his hand to Kibum – when he felt a ghost of febrile skin against his sweaty ones. Jonghyun was startled, but then everything happened in a heartbeat. Swift and automatic.

He remembered this hand, remembered how his fingers had made innumerable journey down that smooth plane of palm. Remembered the times their fingers had aligned and joined, melting into one to the point he couldn’t tell where did his own end and begin. He remembered how this hand never failed to give him warmth, injecting it through the layer of Jonghyun’s rougher skin, and filled him with sweet comfort.

He remembered, and the way their fingers filled the cracks in between never failed to steal his breath away. Jonghyun held them tightly, desperate for the healing property this simple contact could always give him. Before he could revel in it, he felt a tug on his left and he let his body follow the gravity; shoulders sagging forward as the five of them did their final bow together.

His gaze swum, lashes damp and clumping with sweat, but from the corner of his eyes he could see Kibum bracing himself on one knee. Jonghyun figured Kibum must be tired as well, it’s amazing of him to be able to smile ever so beatifically while concealing his lethargy.

Jonghyun was too far gone in his weariness apparently, because he was so transfixed on Kibum’s right hand to the point everything but those longs, pale fingers blurred out of focus in his vision. He watched, mesmerized, as they shifted, unclasped his knee, and made a journey to-  _ oh _

Jonghyun felt his breath being knocked out of his lungs when  those very same fingers he had been staring at were suddenly on his elbows. Curling gently on the aching joints, squeezing tenderly, encouraging. And Jonghyun didn’t need to see, nor strain his ears to hear the message it tried to convey;

_ Hang on, it’s okay, you’re doing good, just a little more- _

Another shift on his left, Taemin’s fingers leave his, and Jonghyun felt himself raising, eyes once again flooded with flickering pearlescent sky blue in the sea of black. Kibum detangled his fingers as well, and Jonghyun found himself clapping automatically, waving at the crowd after the second clap. His mouth was hanging open, head a little bit dazed, and heart hammering against his chest.

The touch was quick, fleeting like a beam of light. But a beam of light it was, because it parted through the hazy cloud of Jonghyun’s lassitude, clearing his head from the dull, irritating noise; like sunshine after the rain, and Jonghyun found himself able to breathe again without feeling stifled.

His eyes traveled to the right where Kibum was waving his hands to the crowd, smiling like the first ray of sun in the morning. Beautiful and a little bit unreal like watching flower bloom.

Affection surged into Jonghyun’s being, and he raised his hand – his previously iron-heavy hands – placed one on the small of Kibum’s back, and the other curling on the spot between his neck and shoulder, squeezing; just as tender, just as gentle and encouraging like Kibum’s. Speaking, of the same well-wishes and hope, of the same praises and gratitude;

_ Thank you. I’m okay. Hang on. Just a little more- _

Then Jonghyun walked away, leaving Kibum to follow behind him.

It was just a simple, passing moment that could have not last more than a minute. It was trivial. It was simple. It was nothing, but for Jonghyun it meant the whole world and more, because it was another reminder for him; that Kibum will always be there, when he’s at his lowest and highest. To catch him when he falls, to welcome him when he soars.

To remind him that Kibum’s affection to him is genuine, will always be and will never cease to be anything less than is. So in the later years when Jonghyun was standing on the edge, in the brink of falling head first into whatever life has prepared for him, he can always remember, than he will never ever be alone.


End file.
